Fatigue
by elquendi
Summary: Sometimes your body just stops, and there's nothing you can do to fix it. A series of drabbles on the nature of emotions and Hatake Kakashi's response to their call- because not even the best shinobi can obey rule 25 all of the time.
1. Fatigue

Fatigue. An utter lack of energy. Not the soft, fuzzy cotton blanket that is 'tired', not the weak lassitude of weariness, but something more. She is a mountain hung around your neck, feeding of your helplessness. Weights on every muscle, bones sheathed in lead, a knife taken to tendons and ligaments that leaves only a broken puppet behind. And still she does not rest- she roosts in the mind, spreading her fugue, until all that is left is a dense grey fog. No memories, no feelings, no thoughts, no words.

She takes all that he is, everything he lives for. She will not let him protect his team.


	2. Depression

Depression. Not grief, nor sadness- nothing so simple- but rather a great, raging monster that sucks up all emotion to feed its ravenous maw. Implacable and relentless, it leaves nothing but a great black void that aches with the echoes of might-have-beens-which-will-never-be. I sit, and I think- of dinners, music, laughter; Of golden hair, a shy smile, a brash voice. I think of Rin, and Obito and the blue eyes that follow me even now. I think on that riotous whirl of colour, no longer quite remembered, save for an overwhelming impression of life- that no longer exists.


	3. Vengeance

Rage- that unreasoning swell of _feeling_ that stops all thought in its tracks. An uncontrolled maelstrom that builds and builds, hidden until it erupts like a fountaining geyser. It is uncontrolable, unreasoning, uncaring, terrifying, and it leaves devastation in its wake. It is a thing civilised creatures fear beyond all else- for rage makes the meek unpredictable, dangerous, and the fierce lose any semblance of humanity.

Time speeds, mind snaps; primal instincts take charge. Muscles tense, eyes narrow, teeth bare in a horrible parody of a grin. Then, as it drains away like water off a beach, his eyes slowly clear and he sees the destruction around him, (pained eyes in front of him), and he is struck with the horror of what he has done.


	4. Grief

Grief- A hole in the stomach and glass in the throat. Standing on top of the peak, wind whipping around him, he mourned, thinking of the people who had left him behind, allowing himself this one small weakness on this one day. Snow swirled, and a shiver ran down his back. Looking down, his eyes unerringly found the heap of stones that marked the grave. He shifted slightly where he stood, boots creaking softly, breath a great white cloud around him as he sighed. Blue eyes flickered and shut, and without another glance, he left his last friend behind.


	5. Fear

His hands shook and his stomach clenched as he tried to hold back the heavy, panting breaths that clawed their way out of his throat. His fear gave the world an awful clarity, and he could hear every shift his pursuers made, tell _exactly_ how close he was to death. The air rushing past his ears became the sharp blade of a kunai, the bark below his feet crackled with the ignition of exploding tags. The world blurred as his oxygen deprived brain gave up the fight to see, and the swirl of colour that was his vision seemed fitting- a circus in his last moments that reflected the circus his life had become.


	6. Guilt

His stomach ached, his heart reverberating with his guilt. Lead hung heavy in his chest, tearing at broken heartstrings. His thoughts whirled with the tension of misplaced trust, endlessly circling as he curled up in his covers. His breath was fast and uneven, his heartbeat arrhythmic. His muscles quivered uncontrollably, seeking rest but still unable to forget the tension of two weeks patrol. He worried at his teacher's comforting words like a dog at a rotting carcass; a ragged hole gaped in his spirit, torn edges of a fragile psyche fluttering in the winds of change and war.


	7. Pain

His shoulder screamed as he leapt from the wall. Splinters of fire pierced the shattered joint, slowly consuming his self-control. His head throbbed, pounding counterpart to his frantic heartbeat, his stomach a slow, dull burn at his centre. Teeth clenched and lips curled, he moved. They were strong. His legs were numb, weak, and he stumbled as he crept along the trees in the dark, sweat dripping from his forehead and sticking shirt to aching ribs. He was used to pain. His constant- _only- _companion; comforting in its familiarity.

Sometimes he wished it was gone.


	8. Boredom

Boredom dragged at eyes already lowered to half-mast. Soft wool crackled in his ears as he shifted restlessly where he stood. Why, oh why, did they require _all_ jounin to attend the signing? Three would _easily _suffice. His breath huffed out, and the shinobi on his left glanced down at him, brow furrowed.

He should have been late- maybe next time. He sighed again, ignoring the harsh eyes of his companions. _Why_ had he _come_?

The steady drone of voices from the front blurred in his ears as his eyes drifted idly over the gaudy procession of politicians to the golden hair of his sensei. He sighed once more.

_That_ was why. That would _always_ be why. More fool him.


	9. Envy

Laughter floated on the breeze, a cascade of bells ringing across the city. Laughter reined in the Hidden Leaves, but one child stood apart in his black and white and red. Envy gnawed- _Anger _gnawed at his heart. He wanted no part in red buntings and loud music. He _didn't_. Shinobi they might be, but they didn't understand. They celebrated. He stood still in the shadows, jaw tense, teeth grinding, eyes narrowed and fists clenched across his chest. His limbs hummed with tension, nervous energy that demanded he _take action_. He was Shadow. He was ANBU. Sometimes, he wished he was Light.


	10. Isolation and Panic

Striding through the village's busiest marketplace, he was alone. Fierce and erect, bright grey eyes narrowed, jaw set, steps quick and light, he moved in an island of calm, the oblivious crowd parting wordlessly before the scent of blood. Hatake was a blessing and a curse; even a shinobi could be too could at dealing death. Sensei had shown him the new Bingo entry: Blood Wolf. Even a Hatake- He stopped, eyes suddenly wide, vacant, breath short and uneven. The seconds passed slowly. Then, a rush of wind and the gap closed as though it had never been.


	11. Shock

He slammed into the side of the hall, crushing his shoulder as he bounced. His heartbeat resonated through his skull, his blood a rushing river in his ears. His eyes wide and his breathing uneven, he scrabbled with his one good arm at the floor, desperate to find that one senbon he'd been allowed. Shaking fingers slackened his grip and he was _too late_. Black spots filled his vision and glazed eyes hardly registered the blur of motion before him. _Sensei_.

"Trust"...?

And when his teammate tried to kill him?


End file.
